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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447946">just a legacy to protect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma'>shineyma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>where we belong [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/M, Grief/Mourning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:34:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some 'verses are harder than others.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>where we belong [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/962367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>just a legacy to protect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to week twenty-two! *confetti* I can't believe I haven't quit yet, y'all, this is amazing.</p><p><b>Warning</b> that this fic does contain references to and emotions resulting from character death. Spoilery details in the end notes if you need them, but nobody dies in-fic. Just grief because people are dead.</p><p>(Actually the end note is super long. As is the fic itself. Sorry.)</p><p>Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Traveling from one universe to another is always a trip. It never stops being disorienting.</p><p>The portal itself is nothing—just like stepping through a door—but that only adds to the disorientation. Going from the Bus to the Playground to a sleek spaceship to a charming country cottage to <em>whatever</em> in nothing more than a step really throws a guy for a loop.</p><p>After so many jumps, Grant’s learned to roll with it. That doesn’t mean he’s not grateful that the first few seconds in a new universe tend to consist of the new Jemma gaping at them. Gives him a minute to adjust.</p><p>Of course, sometimes there’s no gaping.</p><p>’Verse 164? Fresh out of a gunfight in ’verse 163?</p><p>They’re greeted by a little girl’s delighted squeal of “Mummy!”</p><p>Beside him, Jemma sucks in a sharp breath. He can feel her tensing, readying herself to accept a flying toddler—the little girl’s clearly preparing to fling herself across the few feet that separate them—but it turns out to be unnecessary. The little girl’s got a slightly older brother, and he catches her by the arm before she can jump.</p><p>Disorientation passed, Grant takes in the situation: they’re in a comfortably large living room. The furniture’s new, but the view out the wall of windows to his left isn’t. This is Nemesis. Albeit a Nemesis where cheerfully colored cartoons play on the TV and bowls of sugary-looking cereal are probably leaving permanent rings on the sturdy wooden coffee table. (Looks like they interrupted Saturday morning breakfast.)</p><p>More importantly, those are his eyes on that little girl—his eyes and Jemma’s pout at being stopped. And the boy’s got Jemma’s nose and the beginnings of Grant’s height.</p><p>His kids, he decides, satisfied. His and Jemma’s. Another universe for his count, then—and another bit of evidence in his fight to convince her to add their own to said count, because they make damn cute kids.</p><p>He doesn’t get the chance to point that out to Jemma, though.</p><p>“No, Gracie,” the boy is saying, sounding impressively stern for a kid who must be at least three years away from puberty.</p><p>“But Peteeeeeeeer,” Gracie whines. “Mummy and Daddy!”</p><p>“They are <em>not</em>,” Peter snaps, and yanks his little sister behind him. “Mum and Dad are dead, remember?”</p><p><em>That</em> hits Grant straight in the gut. Jemma lets out a strangled noise.</p><p>“I don’t know who you are,” Peter goes on, aiming his words in their general direction—he can’t seem to look at them straight on—“or what you want—”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jemma interrupts. Her voice is the kindest he’s heard in years—since their days on the Bus, even, when she was sweet and soft and so worried over his slightest scratch. It’s even gentler than it gets with the (worryingly numerous) versions of her they meet who’ve been traumatized or abused. “You’re right, we’re not your parents. We’re versions of them from another universe.”</p><p>She leaves it at that, probably figuring that two (likely recently) orphaned kids don’t need the whole story. Or maybe it’s just that Gracie’s obviously not hearing a word.</p><p>“Mummy and Daddy,” she says again. “Peter, want Mummy and Daddy!”</p><p>She’s struggling against him, voice getting higher with every syllable. She’s too young to understand alternate universes—too young to know anything but that her parents have been gone for however long and are now standing right in front of her.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>As Gracie’s eyes fill with tears, Jemma looks like she might cry, too. Hell, Grant’s right there with her.</p><p>Peter, too—he’s trying to put a brave face on, keep his chin up, but his voice shakes when he says, “Okay, Gracie, how about a deal?”</p><p>Gracie stills.</p><p>“Mummy and Daddy,” she says.</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says. “Yeah, you can go to Mum and Dad—<em>after</em> you go get Markham. How’s that?”</p><p>Gracie brightens. “Yes! Uncle Makkam!”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>First Nemesis, now Markham—even odds they’ve found another ’verse where Jemma followed Grant into heading Hydra. Usually he’d be thrilled (she’s so cute when she’s speechless with fury), but right now? He’s a little busy picturing what his ever-loyal second would do to an imposter of his—an imposter who showed up within ten feet of his clearly grieving kids, at that.</p><p>It’s not pretty.</p><p>“Wait,” he says.</p><p>Gracie, sweet little girl that she is, obediently stills only two steps away from Peter—who whirls to glare at Grant. He looks so much like Jemma, Grant has to bite back a very untimely smile. That’s her righteous indignation all over. It’s a kick seeing it on his kid.</p><p>“Don’t tell her what to do,” Peter snaps. “Don’t even <em>talk</em> to her. Just because you look like our dad—stay back!”</p><p>The last is shouted as Grant takes a step forward, and he stops, raising his hands in a show of innocence.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “I’m stopping. It’s okay, Peter.”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Peter orders. “Don’t—don’t say my name like you’re—”</p><p>He breaks off, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth like that’ll stop the tears he’s seconds away from losing his fight against.</p><p>Grant thinks of the third universe they visited, the first one that had them crossing paths with Kara, and kind of wants to punch himself in the face. He knows how much this hurts, having the ghost of someone you love rubbed like salt in your wounds. He <em>hates</em> that he’s doing it to his own son.</p><p>But if Gracie goes and tells Markham—and whoever else of Grant’s Alpha Team might be around—that her parents are in her living room, this is gonna turn into another gunfight. Grant’s confident he can protect himself and Jemma, but there is no way in hell he’s allowing any kind of violence to happen in the same apartment as his kids.</p><p>So as much as he’d like to, he can’t back off. He can’t let his poor, grieving kids walk away.</p><p>He can only try to get through to them.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he says again. “I know you just wanna protect your sister. You’re the man of the family now, you gotta do what’s right for her.” He lifts his empty hands in emphasis. “But you don’t need to protect Gracie from us, buddy, I promise. We’re not here to hurt you. We’re just passing through.”</p><p>Peter’s trembling, just a little. “I won’t let you hurt her.”</p><p>“We won’t,” Jemma says, still so soft. “We would never, love.” She hesitates, and then Grant hears her swallow. “Is—is Markham <em>here</em>? Are you living with him?”</p><p>Good question. With him and Jemma dead, who’s raising their kids? (Also, who or what killed them, and is that who or what still alive to be punished for it? Because Grant’s getting a very strong urge to shoot somebody over the look on his kids’ faces.)</p><p>Peter’s sharp “none of your business” overlaps with Gracie’s “no.” Grant can’t help his smile.</p><p>“Gracie,” Peter says warningly.</p><p>Poor Gracie looks between them all, little face scrunched up in confusion. She just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know why Peter’s so angry, or why he keeps stopping her from coming over to hug Grant and Jemma. Even as he watches, she inches in their direction, only for her brother to catch her arm again. Her whined complaint goes straight to Grant’s heart.</p><p>She’s so young. Three, maybe four. She’ll probably never remember this. She’ll be lucky to have a single memory of her parents.</p><p>Grant’s not gonna lie, it pisses him off.</p><p>“Peter,” Jemma says. “You’re doing an admirable job, protecting your sister. I’m sure your parents would be proud of you—I certainly am. But please understand, we only want to know that you’re all right. That you’re being taken care of. We can’t leave until we’re sure.”</p><p>“<em>Leave</em>?” Gracie echoes, eyes going big. Her tears well up and over. “No! Don’t leave again! Mummy!”</p><p>She’s struggling in earnest against Peter, reaching for Jemma, for Grant, as she wails. It kills him.</p><p>“Look what you did!” Peter snarls at Jemma, even as he struggles to contain her. “Gracie, it’s okay—”</p><p>“No!” she wails. “Want Mummy! Want Daddy!”</p><p>In a dirty trick Grant’s very curious to know where she learned, she smacks the inside of Peter’s arm, hard enough he reflexively draws back. He recovers almost instantly, but it’s not fast enough; Gracie slips his hold and dashes across the living room to throw herself at Jemma, who drops her pack and kneels to meet her. She looks a little teary herself, hugging their daughter close.</p><p>“I’m sorry, love,” she murmurs. “I’m <em>so</em> sorry.”</p><p>It takes effort to drag his eyes away from them. When he does, he finds Peter inches from tears of his own.</p><p>Grant really, really wants to shoot somebody.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice as soft as Jemma’s. He moves a little closer, careful not to block Peter’s view of the girls. The kid’s eyes keep darting between Grant and Gracie, and the obvious protective worry puts a lump in Grant’s throat.</p><p>This is his son. His orphaned son, doing everything he can to look after his little sister when he’s not even old enough to look after himself.</p><p>Gracie’s wailing should’ve brought somebody in here by now.</p><p>“Are you two alone?” he asks.</p><p>Peter hesitates, eyes flickering from Grant to Gracie to Grant’s gun and back to Gracie.</p><p>“Hey,” he says again. “I promise, we’re not here to hurt you. We’re not your parents, but we’re not imposters, either. We’re just…your parents if they’d lived a different life.”</p><p>Unlike Gracie, Peter’s old enough to understand and accept that his parents are dead. That doesn’t mean he’s ready for multiverse theory. The blank look he gives Grant says as much.</p><p>“Point is,” Grant says, “I absolutely promise that we’re not gonna hurt you. We just want to know you’re okay.”</p><p>Peter keeps up the blank look for a few seconds, but under Grant’s best sympathetic face, it quickly crumbles.</p><p>“We’re not,” he admits, and then he’s crying, too.</p><p>He doesn’t fight when Grant pulls him into a hug, just clings, and it doesn’t take long for his silent tears to become huge, body-wracking sobs.</p><p>“I don’t know what to <em>do</em>,” he keens, and Grant has to swallow back tears of his own.</p><p>“I know,” he says, helpless and hating it. “I understand. You’re doing so good, buddy.”</p><p>“I’m <em>not</em>,” Peter sobs. “I can’t even figure out a stupid braid—and Markham’s worried about Hydra—and Gracie won’t stop crying—”</p><p>Grant rubs his back and lets him cry it out. He doesn’t hush him, doesn’t try to tell him it’ll all be okay. He’s no expert, but he thinks sometimes a kid just needs to cry—and if he’s any judge, Peter’s been shoving his own grief down in favor of taking care of Gracie.</p><p>Hell. Peter’s all of nine, if that. He’s too young for this shit.</p><p>So Grant holds him close, lets him cry, and turns his words over in his head. Not being able to figure out a stupid braid would explain Gracie’s hairstyle—Grant wasn’t gonna say anything, but her hair’s in two very uneven braids: one noticeably thinner than the other, with lots of stray locks escaping all over the place. She’s cute as a fucking button, don’t get him wrong, but it was obviously done inexpertly.</p><p>Done inexpertly by her grieving, struggling brother, who’s barely older than she is. Shit.</p><p>The rest of it, though—<em>Gracie won’t stop crying</em> is pretty self-explanatory, if heartbreaking. But <em>Markham’s worried about Hydra</em>? Worried enough to leave Grant’s <em>orphaned children</em> to fend for themselves?</p><p>…Of course.</p><p>What’s the old saying? Cut off one head…with Grant and his wife dead, other would-be heads must be coming out of the woodwork in droves, ready to take over Grant’s operations. There’s a reason Markham, competent and deadly as he is, is Grant’s second rather than running a rival shop. He’s never had dreams of glory—he’d hate being an actual head. Ditto to the rest of Grant’s favored, if they’re even in place in this universe.</p><p>Of course Markham’s worried about Hydra. With no clear successor for Grant within, he’ll be facing endless challenges from without. What can he even do? Even if he found a decent head from the new challengers (doubtful), step one for any new head of Grant’s Hydra would be executing Grant’s kids, the better to keep them from taking control back once they grow up.</p><p>Obviously Markham would never let that happen—and so he’s forced to scramble to defend an empire without an emperor. Coordinating external defense while trying to shore up the internal structure, with or without taking control himself…no wonder he’s got no time to worry about Gracie’s hair.</p><p>He’s close enough to turn to if the kids need help—Peter ordering Gracie to get him is proof enough of that—so that’s something. But what <em>he</em> needs is…well, what he needs is Grant. And what the kids need is Grant and Jemma.</p><p>If they weren’t trying to save the entire fucking multiverse here—</p><p>—wait.</p><p>Okay.</p><p>Grant’s got an idea.</p><p>He lets Peter cry himself out, then guides him over to the couch. Jemma migrated there with Gracie at some point, probably after Gracie cried herself to sleep. She’s slumped against Jemma, thumb in her mouth and little face still scrunched. Jemma looks shattered.</p><p>“Oh, love,” she says when she sees the tears on Peter’s face. “Come here.”</p><p>Peter sniffles and collapses into her free side, burying his face in her shoulder. She kisses his temple and aims a heartbroken look up at Grant.</p><p>“I know,” he says lowly. “You remember number 92?”</p><p>Her eyes go distant for a second as she counts back. Then they widen.</p><p>“Oh,” she breathes, and looks between their kids. “You think—?”</p><p>“Worth a shot,” he says. “You wanna go, or should I?”</p><p>Peter stiffens. Jemma’s hand smooths over his back as she looks from the top of his head to their sleeping daughter and back.</p><p>“I should,” she says eventually and reluctantly. “You’ll need to talk to Markham, won’t you?”</p><p>Right. Good point.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “He’s gonna take some convincing.”</p><p>Peter takes a loud, ragged breath and then sits back, putting some distance between himself and Jemma.</p><p>“Convincing about what?” he demands, suspicious. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Grant doesn’t dare join them on the couch—too much like crowding him—so he takes a seat on the coffee table instead. (After pushing the now probably disgustingly soggy cereal aside, of course.)</p><p>“Have you ever watched a TV show with parallel timelines or anything like that?” he asks.</p><p>Still looking suspicious, Peter nods slowly. “Sure. <em>Zax and the Unbelieving</em> had a whole season where a Zax from a timeline where Partition was destroyed tried to keep the real Partition from…”</p><p>He trails off, eyes moving from Grant to Jemma and back.</p><p>“No,” he says.</p><p>Grant spreads his hands.</p><p>“So,” Peter says slowly, “when you said you’re from another universe…you mean another timeline? Like Zax?”</p><p>“Sure,” Grant says, while distantly wondering if the show exists in his own universe. “Like Zax was from a timeline where Partition was destroyed, we’re from a timeline where—” he’s not gonna tell the kid he doesn’t exist—“a very bad man cast a dangerous spell that hurt the, uh…”</p><p>What’s a kid-friendly way to explain the damage Hive did to the fabric of the multiverse?</p><p>“Imagine that the different timelines are like the different rooms here,” Jemma jumps in. “Your timeline is this living room. Ours is the kitchen. There are other timelines in the bedrooms and the closets. Can you picture that?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says.</p><p>“Now imagine that someone fired a canon from the outside of the building,” she says. “It blew through the outer walls, from your bedroom to Gracie’s to the living room and on. Now there are holes in all the walls, and that’s no good. You can’t have privacy in a room with broken walls, can you?”</p><p>Peter’s expression clears a little. “So you fell through one of the holes?”</p><p>“Not exactly,” Grant says. “More like we jumped. Basically, we’re stepping through all the holes and closing them up behind us.”</p><p>“Oh.” Peter swallows hard and looks away. “So you’re—you’re really just passing through, like you said. You’re not…staying.”</p><p>He’s trying to sound unaffected. It’s not working.</p><p>Grant <em>really</em> wants to shoot somebody.</p><p>“No, love,” Jemma says gently. “I’m afraid we can’t. But if we could…do you think that would be all right? No one could ever replace your parents, we know, but could you be happy, you think, with parallel timeline versions?”</p><p>“Who cares?” he grumbles. “You already said you can’t.”</p><p>“<em>We</em> can’t,” Grant agrees. “But there are other timelines. Other versions of us who don’t have this mess to clean up.”</p><p>For an instant—just a tiny fraction of a second—hope brightens Peter’s face. It disappears fast, but it’s there and it’s enough for Grant.</p><p>This wouldn’t work so well if the kids were older, probably. They’d worry about whether the alternate universe versions were <em>really</em> their parents, linger over the memories the other versions didn’t have and the things they didn’t know.</p><p>As it is, Peter’s a grieving little boy trying to take care of a grieving toddler. All he cares about is that he can have his parents back.</p><p>This’ll work fine.</p><p>Jemma obviously agrees; she meets Grant’s eyes and then nods to Gracie. She’s awake now, huddled against Jemma’s side and still sucking on her thumb. She doesn’t care about the conversation, just that she’s got her mom.</p><p>Too bad her mom’s gotta leave—but Grant likes to think he’s a damn good consolation prize.</p><p>“Hey, princess,” he says, holding his hands out to her. “You wanna sit with me for a minute?”</p><p>“Okay,” she mumbles around her thumb, and scoots to the edge of the couch. It’s close enough to the coffee table that Grant can just lean forward and pluck her up off it, and once in his lap, she cuddles up to him just as happily as she did Jemma.</p><p>“There we go,” he says, and bends to kiss her hair, just because he can. “Have a nice nap?”</p><p>“Nice,” she echoes, nodding against his chest. He’s got a feeling she won’t be awake for long. “Missed you, Daddy.”</p><p>Hell. Stab him in the heart, why doesn’t she.</p><p>“Missed you too, princess,” he says. “You been good for your brother?”</p><p>“Pe’fect,” she says, and Peter scoffs.</p><p>Grant has to laugh. “Of course you have.”</p><p>That established, they sit there for a minute—him and Gracie on the coffee table, Jemma and Peter on the couch. A sweet picture of the family they aren’t.</p><p>It puts a particular kind of ache in Grant’s chest, and not a new one. He’s been feeling it on and off since his unscheduled trip back to ’verse 23, when he found out that sweet civilian Jemma was pregnant. All of this—the unfamiliar weight of a toddler on his lap, the shape of his eyes in Peter’s face, the comfortable living room with art projects on the walls—it only makes it sharper.</p><p>But there’s no time to waste on longing. They’ve got kids who need parents and a multiverse still in need of saving.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “Peter, I’m gonna need to talk to Markham.”</p><p>“Why?” Peter asks. There’s still a bit of suspicion lingering in his eyes—he’s not <em>totally</em> convinced, just mostly. “You never said.”</p><p>“Right. I need to convince him to trust me. He won’t agree to our plan if he doesn’t.”</p><p>Peter looks skeptical—and so much like Grant that it almost chokes him up. “Markham’s not real trusting.”</p><p>“No,” Grant agrees. “Which is why we better get started, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Peter says, and shifts to the end of the couch. There’s a phone on the end table there—a landline, with a list on the back of the handset. Even from here, Grant can make it out:</p><p>2 – MARKHAM</p><p>3 – EVIE</p><p>4 – ALDRIDGE</p><p>5 – ORTILLA</p><p>6 – HICKS</p><p>7 – WARRINGTON</p><p>8 – SECURITY</p><p>It’s Evie’s handwriting, clear and careful for the kids’ benefit. A list of speed dial settings, obviously…with none for mom and dad, who are of course dead. It’s a visual and visceral reminder that these kids—<em>Grant’s</em> kids—have been on their own.</p><p>Not entirely, of course. His people are good and loyal; he’s sure Alpha Team and Evie are keeping close track of the kids, making sure they eat and bathe and all that good stuff. But Grant’s kids deserve more than that.</p><p>He’s gonna get it for them.</p><p>“I can convince Markham,” he says, as much to himself as anyone else, and looks to Jemma. “Go.”</p><p>She nods once and stands, but doesn’t go far. She takes one step closer, rests a hand on Grant’s shoulder, and uses him for balance as she leans down to kiss Gracie’s hair.</p><p>“I’ll be right back, love,” she says. “Be good.”</p><p>Gracie’s already asleep again, but Grant can understand the urge to say goodbye to her. (He just hopes she doesn’t wake up before Jemma gets back—he doesn’t doubt there’s gonna be some serious separation anxiety happening.)</p><p>That done, Jemma moves on to Peter, ducking down to kiss his temple as he hits the appropriate speed dial button.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” she says again. “Keep these two out of trouble, please.”</p><p>It surprises a smile out of Peter, but Grant frowns at her.</p><p>“Rude,” he says. “Rude and unnecessary.”</p><p>She won’t snap at him, not in front of the kids, but that doesn’t stop her from giving him a hell of a dry look.</p><p>“Do I need to remind you how we left the last universe?” she asks.</p><p><em>Very</em> rude. “That was Trip’s fault.”</p><p>Jemma rolls her eyes and rounds the coffee table. He doesn’t turn to watch her; he knows what she’s doing. Going for her bag, digging out the ‘hopper, pulling up the log. Back to ’verse 92.</p><p>They’ve long since learned time moves differently between ’verses, so there’s no telling how long it’ll have been for their doubles.</p><p>Grant just hopes it’s been long enough.</p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>The ninety-second universe Jemma and Ward visited was one of the hardest, which is truly saying something. If it weren’t for the children, Jemma would never dream of returning.</p><p>As it is, she doesn’t hesitate to step through the portal once it forms.</p><p>The kitchen she steps out into isn’t the one she remembers. Oh, it’s clearly the same kitchen, but it’s been thoroughly redone—the cabinets and tile replaced, walls painted, counters resurfaced. The large kitchen table is gone, discarded in favor of stools at the island.</p><p>All of these changes appear to be the result of home improvement projects Jemma and Ward’s doubles have completed themselves—or so the half-finished backsplash behind the sink and the slightly crooked handle on one cabinet door lead her to assume.</p><p>She can well imagine what motivated them to undertake such work themselves, but she’s no time (and even less desire) to linger on the thought.</p><p>Ward is lounging in one of the stools at the island, a cup of coffee frozen halfway to his mouth.</p><p>“Good morning,” she says politely.</p><p>“Morning,” he says, visibly shaking off his shock. “Welcome back. Don’t tell me someone’s cast another spell.”</p><p>“No,” she says, “we’re still working on the first, I’m afraid. Where’s Jemma?”</p><p>“In the back,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Gardening. Where’m I?”</p><p>Gardening—it’s a relief to hear, truly. The last time she visited this universe, her double could barely be moved to leave her bed. Even the news of Jemma and Ward’s mission and the danger to the multiverse didn’t rouse her curiosity.</p><p>“We’ll get to that in a moment,” she says. “How long has it been for you?”</p><p>Ward blinks. “Two years. Why? How long has it been for <em>you</em>?”</p><p>In truth, Jemma’s long since stopped keeping track of time. It’s too depressing.</p><p>“Significantly less,” she settles on. “I’d like to speak to you both, if you’ve the time.”</p><p>One thing that doesn’t change between universes—Ward has an unsettling, piercing way of looking at one, as though he can read one’s darkest secrets as easily as if they were written on one’s face. Jemma’s always hated it.</p><p>“Sure,” he says, and pushes back from the island. “Jem!”</p><p>Behind him, through the sliding glass door open on a patio, comes her double’s answering shout of, “What?”</p><p>“Got a visitor!” he shouts back, then turns to Jemma. “Cup of coffee?”</p><p>“No, thank you,” she says.</p><p>“You sure?” he asks. “You look beat.” His eyes narrow, evaluating her. “When was the last time you slept?”</p><p>“It’s been a while,” she admits, and holds up a hand before he can speak. (She’s unfortunately well-acquainted with the expression he wears when preparing to lecture her about her health.) “We’ll be breaking to sleep soon, don’t worry. We just need to get our current…issue settled.”</p><p>“Well, that’s ominous,” he says wryly, and turns to greet Jemma’s double as she walks in. “Hey, baby. How’re the cattleya?”</p><p>“Blooming beautifully,” she assures him with a smile that’s heartening to see. It fades a bit once she sees Jemma, unfortunately. “Oh. You’re…I rather thought you might be a hallucination.”</p><p>“I’m afraid not,” Jemma says, studying her. She looks good—much better than last time. Not gaunt or fragile at all. “You look well.”</p><p>“Thank you,” her double says, and moves to the sink to wash her hands. “Where’s your Grant?”</p><p>“Still in the universe I just left,” Jemma says. “We have…something of a situation.”</p><p>Ward leans against the island, crossing his arms. “What kind of situation?”</p><p>This is difficult. Jemma knew it would be, but now that she’s here…she doesn’t even know where to begin. Or <em>how</em> to begin, for that matter. It’s not an easy topic to address.</p><p>She thinks of Gracie’s whimpers, her tearful babble about missing her and bad dreams—about Peter breaking down in Ward’s arms—and steels her courage.</p><p>“I know,” she says, “that there’s no replacing what the two of you have lost.”</p><p>Ward straightens. Her double stills in the act of drying her hands.</p><p>“I would never try,” Jemma continues, “or suggest that it were possible.”</p><p>“Where is this going?” her double demands, knuckles white on the dish towel she’s still holding.</p><p>“The last time we were here,” Jemma says, “you said you found the idea of leaving your universe behind appealing. That if you could be assured of a better one, you’d go there at once. Did you mean it?”</p><p>Ward and her double share a long look.</p><p>“You think you found a better universe?” he asks.</p><p>She’s found plenty. Even the universes where she’s abused or brainwashed (or abused <em>and</em> brainwashed) are better than this one.</p><p>“Yes,” she says. “More importantly, I’ve found one where you’re needed.”</p><p>“Needed for what?” her double asks.</p><p>Jemma hesitates. “It’s not <em>for what</em>, so much as…<em>by whom</em>.”</p><p>Her double and Ward pale.</p><p>“Their names are Peter and Gracie—Grace, properly, I presume. They’re young; Gracie around three, Peter perhaps eight. They’re struggling.”</p><p>Jemma’s double has tears in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. Ward turns to brace his hands against the island.</p><p>It’s a better reaction than Jemma expected. Honestly, she more than half-expected violence. There’s a reason this universe ranks in the top ten of her worst.</p><p>They call it, simply, The Event. An inexplicable, likely alien-origin incident that resulted in half the planet’s population dying all at once—just dissolving, leaving nothing but ash behind. And among the dead, Jemma and Ward learned on their last visit, were Jack and Abigail Ward.</p><p>It’s a nightmare—literally. Jemma’s had several since leaving this universe.</p><p>“I know they can’t replace Jack and Abigail,” she says again. “No more than you can replace their parents. But…they do need parents. If you’re willing, we thought you’d do well.”</p><p>They appear speechless; not promising, but understandable. Jemma decides to simply keep speaking until they stop her, as there is rather a lot of information to report.</p><p>“You were head of Hydra in that universe, too,” she says, “and your Alpha Team are, from what I gathered, alive and doing their best to continue on. The children spoke familiarly of Markham and Aldridge—” Gracie’s babble included a brief diversion into Aunt Candy not letting her have ice cream for dinner—“and Peter moved to summon Markham when threatened by our appearance.”</p><p>Ward looks particularly affected by that information. His ‘Alpha Team’ were also casualties of The Event—he lost Markham, Ortilla, and Warrington to The Event itself, and Aldridge and Hicks to the chaos and disorder that followed.</p><p>“I can’t promise it’s a better world,” she continues, “but it’s a <em>different</em> one. One with children that need you.”</p><p>“Stop,” her double chokes out, and Jemma does. Her double takes several deep breaths. “These children—they’re alone?”</p><p>“Not entirely,” Jemma allows. “Aldridge at least oversees dinner. Someone is stocking their pantry and seeing to it that the children and the apartment remain clean. But it doesn’t appear anyone is seeing to their emotional needs—Peter has clearly been putting on a brave face for his little sister. I don’t believe he’s dealt with his grief at all.”</p><p>Jemma’s double looks to Ward, and he looks back. Something passes between them, something she can’t even begin to read.</p><p>Their relationship is as strong as ever, it seems, despite what they’ve lost. They’ve redecorated and remodeled their home, burying their grief in DIY projects and a new garden, but somehow in all of that busy work, they continued to cling to one another. It’s—something.</p><p>“I think we need to talk about this,” Ward says eventually. “Could you give us a minute?”</p><p>“Of course,” Jemma says. It’s likely presumptuous of her, but—“Might I borrow your shower while you talk?”</p><p>“Of course,” her double echoes, gesturing vaguely towards the hall. “There are clean towels in the linen closet.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jemma says, and makes herself scarce.</p><p>She takes her time in the shower. The last one she got was in universe 147 (another one where Ward was the head of Hydra) and she’s been through three gunfights, two thunderstorms, and a deeply unsettling walk in a forest since. It’s a relief to be clean—and to shower without fear of hidden cameras.</p><p>(Ward insisted there weren’t any, of course, but she’d hardly trust the word of Hydra’s head.)</p><p>Once she’s done, she pulls her last set of clean clothes out of her pack and dresses. They’ll have to see about laundry soon—perhaps whichever universe they settle in for the night will have facilities available. She could use a meal, too.</p><p>Daydreaming about pasta, she steps out of the bathroom—and startles to find her double waiting in the bedroom.</p><p>No. Not waiting. <em>Packing</em>.</p><p>“You’ve decided, then?” she asks, and doesn’t attempt to hide her relief.</p><p>“We have,” her double says. She’s carefully folding a tiny onesie into her suitcase; the sight tears at Jemma’s heart. “There’s nothing left for us in this universe. We’ve been talking about trying again for children, but I—well, in truth, I haven’t had the courage. This is better, I think. Easier.”</p><p>Gaining two children in an instant, rather than spending nine long months dreading all the things that could go wrong—imagining all the ways she could lose this one?</p><p>Yes, Jemma can see how it would be easier.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.”</p><p>“I’m not,” her double says frankly. “But what are we without hope, hm?”</p><p>Just doom, Jemma thinks but doesn’t say. It wouldn’t mean anything to this version of her; she never went to Maveth.</p><p>Just as well, perhaps. To lose children on top of Will? She doubts she’d survive.</p><p>Depressed by the thought, Jemma offers her help in packing, and quickly finds herself conscripted into folding clothes while her double and Ward go through the house for keepsakes. It’s thoughtless work, but soothing in a way.</p><p>(Although discovering the lingerie drawer is mildly traumatizing, if only for the way she—for some reason—automatically imagines how her own Ward would react to seeing her in such daring apparel. Jemma wishes she had time for another shower.)</p><p>Of course, the packing is limited to what they can carry through the portal; the already-fragile multiverse can’t handle the strain of multiple trips back and forth. Once everything is packed, they go through it all again, focusing on keepsakes and memories.</p><p>(Clothes, after all, can be purchased in the other universe. Abigail’s first softball trophy cannot.)</p><p>It takes hours, but in the end, Jemma’s double and Ward have narrowed their selection and packed it all up. Jemma reopens the portal, and with four suitcases, three totes, and two boxes in hand, they step back through.</p><p>There’s no hesitation on the other two’s parts—no last, lingering looks at their home. It eases a little of her guilt at asking so much of them to see how very ready they truly are to leave their world behind.</p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>When her universe-jumping doppelgänger told them about the children, Jemma feared they would turn out to be copies of Jack and Abigail. Even as she was agreeing with Grant that they couldn’t just turn their backs on these poor orphaned children, she was thinking of what torment it would be, looking at familiar faces on strange children. She would have borne it, of course—it would hardly be the children’s fault that she’d loved and lost children who looked just like them—but she knows it would have been torture.</p><p>As such, it’s quite a relief to find that Peter and Gracie are almost totally unfamiliar. Oh, there are similarities there—if one lined them up with Jack and Abigail, it would be obvious they were siblings. But Gracie proves to be a sweet, dark-haired child with Jemma’s own sunny smile and a butterfly-patterned dress Abigail, determined tomboy that she was, wouldn’t have worn at gunpoint. And Peter is a tense little boy with Grant’s watchful, worried eyes; nothing at all like Jack’s devil-may-care grin and perpetually messy face.</p><p>Lovely children, she’s sure, with pieces of her and Grant both—but not <em>her</em> children. She need not fear slipping and calling them the wrong name, or giving Gracie Abigail’s favorite meal, or anything of the sort.</p><p>She can do this. <em>They</em> can do this.</p><p>Obviously agreeing, Grant squeezes her hand once before he lets it go in favor of kneeling to meet Gracie. She’s very young—too young to understand that Grant isn’t truly her father. They’ll explain when she’s older, of course, tell her everything they can about her original parents, but for now, their presence and their love will be enough.</p><p>Her brother, on the other hand…</p><p>“You must be Peter,” Jemma says, rounding the coffee table to stand before him. Markham is at his right shoulder, as their universe’s version so often was with Grant; if Jemma thinks about it for too long, it’s certain to bring her to tears. “It’s lovely to meet you.”</p><p>Peter sniffs and looks away. “You’re not my mum.”</p><p>“No,” she agrees. She had time during their packing to consider how to handle this; she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as her double seemed to think. She might be every inch the genius Jemma is, but she’s not a mother. “Not truly. But…how much did the others tell you about us?”</p><p>“Not much.” His shrug is decidedly sulky. It’s adorable. “They said you’re from another timeline, like in <em>Zax and the Unbelieving</em>.”</p><p>A fascinating point of convergence—Jack doesn’t exist in this reality, but his favorite cartoon does. (For a moment, Jemma lets herself linger on the pleasant memories of sitting in front of the television with her son curled into her side, watching Zax’s adventures with his friends.)</p><p>Mysteries of the multiverse aside, Jemma’s glad Peter is familiar with the show. For a children’s cartoon, <em>Zax and the Unbelieving</em> tackled a number of surprisingly complex topics. It will make an excellent avenue of approach.</p><p>“Right,” she says. “We have <em>Zax and the Unbelieving</em> in our timeline, too. Do you remember how the other Zax was with Meliflua? It was hard for him to be around her, wasn’t it, after losing his own version.”</p><p>Peter nods warily.</p><p>“But it helped, too, in the end,” she continues. “Didn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “’Cause Meliflua knew the secret code, so she could decrypt the message the other her left for Zax.”</p><p>Not quite what Jemma meant, but she can work with it. “Yes. Even though they were from different timelines, they were still able to help one another.”</p><p>She pauses, darting a glance at the hovering Markham. It’s a bit painful to look at him; she was fond of their own version, if nowhere near as close to him as Grant was. Here and now, his fierce, warning expression is comforting. He’s clearly on edge, ready to spring into action should she cause Peter any harm.</p><p>“They might not have told you,” she goes on, returning her attention to Peter, “that just as you lost your parents, my Grant and I lost our children.”</p><p>The lingering suspicion drops away from his face, replaced swiftly with a child’s instinctive empathy.</p><p>“Oh,” he says, very quietly. “They didn’t. Sorry.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she says. “And I’m sorry for your loss, as well…though I think we both know those words don’t help a jot, do they?”</p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p>“What might help,” she starts, and pauses to steel herself. She’ll only alarm him if she cries. “Jack and Abigail were very independent spirits. As such, we developed the habit of making deals with them, rather than just giving orders.”</p><p>“Us too,” he says, a tad shakily. “Mum said—said Dad never heard an order he didn’t find a way around. So compromise is better.”</p><p>“Precisely.” Jemma gives him a moment to compose himself, then continues. “I think perhaps we should make a deal. We’re not your parents, and you’re not our children. But maybe…Grant and I can look after you for your parents, and in Heaven or the afterlife or—whatever comes next—your parents can look after Jack and Abigail for us. Would that be a fair deal, do you think?”</p><p>“That, um.” He sniffles. “Yeah, that’s—that’s fair. I think.” He takes a quick, shaking breath. “Do you think Mum and Dad would—would—it’d be okay? They wouldn’t mind?”</p><p><em>Peter has clearly been putting on a brave face for his little sister</em>, Jemma’s double told her. It only takes a moment’s thought to follow that concept to its logical conclusion.</p><p>“I know you’ve been taking care of Gracie,” she says. “You’ve done a wonderful job, just like your parents would have expected. But speaking as a mother myself—” She dares to reach out and cup his face, thumbing away a stray tear. “—I would rather see you get to enjoy a few more years of being a little boy before you worry about being a father. Letting us step in as adults doesn’t make you a bad brother, Peter. No one would ever accuse you of that.”</p><p>She’s found the thought which weighed heaviest on him, it seems, because thus assured, Peter collapses into relieved tears. Jemma draws him in, holds him close, and despite a lifelong skepticism of religion, lets herself believe that in some sort of afterlife, another version of her holds Jack and Abigail just as tightly.</p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>They don’t linger long after getting their doubles from ’verse 92 settled in. Markham’s hanging around looking suspicious and skeptical, but Peter’s crying in the other Jemma’s arms while Gracie’s showing an impressed other Grant the pictures she’s drawn since he “left.”</p><p>Grant thinks they’ll be fine.</p><p>(And on the bright side, if they’re <em>not</em>, he’ll probably never know. So.)</p><p>“On to the next one?” he asks his own Jemma as they slip out of the living room.</p><p>“Actually,” she says, “I was thinking it’s about time we stop for a night.”</p><p>“In the mood for a break?” he asks. “I noticed you got a shower in while you were gone. Uncool.”</p><p>He’s kind of disappointed, actually; there’s been glitter on her face for six universes and he wanted to see how long it’d take her to realize.</p><p>“And you got in a meal,” she points out, voice surprisingly free of snark. “I’d say that makes us even.”</p><p>Fair enough.</p><p>“And yes,” she adds, “I <em>am</em> in the mood for a break. I need some time to recover from…all of that.”</p><p>He has to work to hide his surprise. Not that she needs a break after being confronted by first their orphaned children and then their alternate universe selves who lost children of their own—he’s right there with her on the emotional rollercoaster. No, the surprising part is that she <em>admitted</em> it, and without him tricking her or anything.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, a break’d be nice.”</p><p>“Good,” she says, and pulls the ’hopper out. “How does universe 112 sound?”</p><p>He’s pretty sure that’s the one where SHIELD was based out of a literal castle—and better yet, there was no Hydra, so nobody so much as looked sideways at him. “Sounds good.”</p><p>Jemma nods to herself and sets the ’hopper.</p><p>“By the way,” Grant says, “I’d just like to point out that a: this is ’verse one hundred and thirty-three that we’re together in—”</p><p>“It hardly counts when we’re dead,” she points out, surprisingly casually.</p><p>“<em>So</em> does,” he counters, “and also b: we make really cute kids. Just saying.”</p><p>She stills, just for a second, and then hits the button to open the portal. It swirls into being beside them, same as ever. (After more than a hundred and sixty jumps, it’s really not that impressive anymore.)</p><p>“So we do,” she agrees, and steps right through.</p><p>No argument. No glare. Not even a threat to his manhood just for thinking about it.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” he says to himself. “We’re getting there.”</p><p>Then he steps through the portal, looking forward to ’verse 112’s beds. He remembers them, fondly, as being extra comfortable.</p><p>Maybe he’ll even be able to lure Jemma into one.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SPOILERS: The 'verse hoppers visit a 'verse where their doubles are dead, leaving two young children to mourn them. They also visit another 'verse where their doubles have lost two children of their own.</p><p>---</p><p>So, fun story: my gateway to <em>Hamilton</em> was the song <em>Wait for It</em>, and ever since my first listen, I've had the urge to write a biospec fic about their kids losing them, because of the lines:</p><p> </p><p>  <em>my mother was a genius<br/>my father commanded respect<br/>when they died they left no instructions<br/>just a legacy to protect</em></p><p> </p><p>because is there ANYTHING more Jemma/Grant? But every time I tried to write the fic, I stalled over it because I don't want my bbs dead or THEIR bbs orphaned. But last week I figured hey, if aos can just plug in another version after someone dies, why can't I? Except it won't be quite so easy in my version. Because emotions don't work like that. <strike>but I'm not bitter</strike></p></blockquote></div></div>
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